


Ma petite étoile

by annebenedicte



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-07 00:19:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annebenedicte/pseuds/annebenedicte
Summary: Although the title is in French , the story is in EnglishHistorical setting - one of my favourite, though the story owes the general idee  to "Libre d'aimer" by Olivier MerleParis 1943 - under the German occupation ...Berenice Wolfe is studying medecine ... Serena is ...you'll see !





	1. Chapter 1

Paris, 1943

The library felt safe. Nowhere really did nowadays, but the School of Medicine Library, with its dark wood-panelling, its muted atmosphere and its dusty volumes, seemed out of time, and out of harm’s way. There she could forget she had no right to be studying medicine anymore. She could forget that she had enrolled at the university with fake papers. She could forget she had not seen her parents for six months – since the day the Gestapo had knocked at the door and arrested them. She had been studying at a friend’s, and when she had come back, the neighbours had told her what happened – she had grabbed a few clothes, her mother’s jewels which had still been in their secret hiding place, and she had left the family flat forever. With the jewels, her father had hidden a stash of banknotes, too – just in case… And now, just a few days short of her 20th birthday, Berenice Wolfe was holed up in the place where she felt the safest. Where she could forget she was virtually homeless and orphaned.

She had no real plans either – she really wanted to finish her year, and Jacqueline, the friend with whom she was staying had told her she could stay as long as she wanted. Of course, her friend had no idea she was risking her life – if Berenice was arrested and the Milice realised her papers were fake, if somehow they learnt Jacqueline had offered her a room – they would both be deported. 1943 wasn’t a good year to be Jewish in France. Luckily for her, Berenice – or Bernie – as her friends called her, with her fair hair, brown eyes and aristocratic looks, was as far from the Semite caricatures decorating the streets walls as possible. And with her fake papers – from which the big red J and the name Sarah had been removed – and the absence of yellow star on her clothes, she could pass for Aryan…

When she wasn’t at the library, in class or in theatre – dissections were one of her favourite things at medical schools – she was giving private English lessons. Although Jacqueline came from a well-off family and the flat they lived in was paid for by her father, Bernie didn’t want to sponge off her, and she insisted on paying her way. With her fake papers, her own father had had some ration cards made too, so at least she could use those, but one needed money too. She was lucky enough to be fluent in English, having spent many holidays there before the war, and her pupils’ parents seemed to be happy enough with her services. Probably happier than she was – teaching really wasn’t her favourite kind of occupation, as it entailed interacting with people, which was definitely not her forte. And when she wasn’t in either of those places, she was in a café near the university – a small, dark café, full of smoke and noise. She probably shouldn’t – women alone in cafés, especially young ones, were an oddity – but she wanted to give Jacqueline some space. The flat they shared was small, and Jacqueline, although she had kindly offered a small boxroom- with only room for a mattress and her suitcase, liked her privacy. She had told Bernie in no uncertain terms that if she ever saw her come back with a man, she wanted her to go to her room and stay there. Therefore, Bernie tried to stay out of the flat as much as possible – during the day, the library and the café offered a place to sit and wait. At night, of course, she had no such choice – the curfew ensured she had to stay in her room.

Winter 1943 was cold – so cold that you could see your breath spiralling in white mists, and that the only coat Bernie had brought with her couldn’t keep her from shivering. On one particularly icy evening, she sat in her usual corner in the café, trying to make a cup of chicory last as long as possible, when she saw an apparition. Not the Virgin Mary – she wasn’t Bernadette of Lisieux – but a woman who seemed so out of place in the small dusty café that she could as well have been a miracle. The only way in which the brunette fitted with the décor was with her cigarette. Unlike the other patrons, though, she held it delicately to her red lips, and inhaled deeply before breathing the smoke out with a tilt of her head. Her dark hair was shoulder-length, with a front wave and otherwise straight, and she wore a sleek fur stole over her red coat, assorted to the fur pillbox hat she had deposited on the seat besides hers. She wasn’t having brownish chicory either, but a glass of red wine, which alternated to her lips with the cigarette. She apparently did not care about the incongruity of her presence in that café, and although the waiter snapped to attention with more care than usual, only Bernie appeared to be disturbed by her presence.

Two days later, the woman came in again, at the same time, and Bernie once again sat in the shadows, forgot all about her medical books and stared mesmerised at her. This time a green silk scarf hung around her neck, loosely hiding a row of pearls, and another coat, a fur one, let show the mere hint of a generous cleavage.  Once again the stranger disappeared after two glasses of wine, and once again Bernie was left overwhelmed, both by the brazen attitude and by a feeling she couldn’t name. Awe mixed with a tinge of envy, perhaps, but also something else. That something else had a name – people usually called it “love at first sight”. However, nothing in Bernie’s education nor in her background had prepared her to understand that such a thing was possible between two women. She had been raised on “once upon a time”, when the handsome prince won the hand of the beautiful princess. Although her parents had been liberal enough to allow her to study medicine, she had also been told that her greatest accomplishment as a woman would be to marry and have children. The mere idea that love did not always entail a man and a woman just did not exist in her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Bernie was in the small kitchen, trying to light the temperamental cooker, when she heard Jac come back. A male voice indicated that her friend had brought her new conquest with her. Bernie bit her lips – she had every right to use the kitchen, after all, she did pay Jacqueline a small rent. But she knew she wouldn’t be welcome in the front room with her friend and her guest – not that she had any desire to join them. Finally the hot plate ignited, and she put her saucepan on it. She could hear giggles, but not much else  - like in many Haussmanian buildings, the kitchen – where only the servants laboured – had been built far from the masters’ domain. She finished heating her soup and took a hunk of bread, deposited everything on a tray and made her way to her room – she would have to pass the front room door, but with any luck the other two wouldn’t notice her. She tiptoed in the long corridor and suddenly froze – the man sat on the sofa, Jac cuddled in his arms. She could only see his back, but it was enough for her to recognise a German uniform. The strongly-accented French would have let the cat out of the bag anyway. As they clicked champagne flutes together, Bernie suddenly unfroze and almost ran to her room. How could Jac? Of course, she had no idea that Bernie’s whole family had been arrested. That Bernie’s boyfriend, too, had been rounded up by the Police in July. Marcus… A small smile came to Bernie’s lips, quickly followed by a few tears she wiped quickly with her hand. She had wept then long enough. Her father had been warned by the Resistance that foreign Jewish families were at risk that day, and he had tried to warn his old friend M. Dunn, but he had been too late – M. and Mme Dunn, their 20-years-old son Marcus and their 12-years-old twins had already been taken. Later, M. Wolfe had learnt that they had been taken to the Vel d’Hiv, and that Mme Dunn, who suffered from a fragile constitution, had died there. The rest of the family had been deported to an unknown destination. Marcus and Bernie had been childhood friends – they had shared many Seders and she had danced with him at his Bar Mitsvah…Then they had hid in a spare room and he had kissed her. A chaste kiss, a tingle on her 13-years-old lips…The beginning of a teenage romance, with red roses, poems and a few more kisses – nothing more, of course, it wasn’t the “done” thing…But a promise of marriage one day. They were to be engaged on her 21st birthday… Bernie sniffed and straightened up – she couldn’t yield to memories – they hurt too much. Because after the Dunn family, her own parents had gone…Her father had thought they were safe, because they were French. Very new French – the Wolfe brothers had come from Poland to open a jewellery store in Paris, and the store did quite well. Intend on belonging, her father and her uncle had not only married Frenchwomen, but they had also become naturalised. The Dunns, Polish compatriots, had not. But her father had been wrong – Abraham Wolfe and his wife Huguette had been taken too.

She cried herself to sleep that night, and when she met Jac in the kitchen the next morning, she almost couldn’t meet her eyes. Finally, because the silence was becoming unbearable, she finally asked: “So – your new beau…”. Jac frowned: “What about him? He’s lovely! He brought champagne…and he gave me silk stockings! Imagine – silk stockings…”

Finally, Bernie couldn’t hold it anymore: “Jac! He’s a Nazi! A _boche_  ! »

« Henrik is not a Nazi! He had no choice! They didn’t ask him if he wanted to be a soldier, you know? Actually, he was a medical student, just like us! But his father – well, his father is a Nazi, I’ll give you that. Herr Hanssen’s son couldn’t shy away from fighting for the Vaterland – he made his son join the SS.”

“Your Henrik didn’t object, though, did he?” replied Bernie bitterly, aware that her fear made her unfair. She knew as well as Jac that the young man had probably not chosen his fate.

“Come on, Bernie – don’t be such a prig! He’s a nice man. Very clever too – he knows all those Heine poems by heart…”

“He – is – the – enemy!” enunciated Bernie, shaking with rage and nerves.

“I’m not asking you to sleep with him, Berenice! What I do in my own home is my business – and if you’re not happy with it, well …”

Jac rose abruptly and slammed the kitchen door behind her. Bernie put her head in her hands, trying to stop trembling. If Jac threw her out, she would have no home. She had no one else to turn to. Unwilling to waste food, she forced herself to eat the piece of dry bread on her plate. When she left for the university, her body had stopped shaking but her mind was in turmoil. She could hardly concentrate on her studies, and although she usually did not mind the strong formalin odour mixed with the stench of tobacco in the dissection rooms – most of the male students lit up just to give themselves a countenance – that day she disgraced herself and fainted. From what a colleague told her, she had to be carried out of the room, and the look of disgust the professor threw her when he passed her in the corridor made her redden and want to go and hide in a mousehole. The same colleague invited her to come and eat something with him, but she was too ashamed of herself to accept and she just fled the building, even leaving her bag behind in the dissection room. She only noticed that, however, when she found herself at the door of her favourite café. She foraged in her pockets and could find only five francs, not even enough for what passed for coffee these days. Feeling miserable, she hesitated – could she go in and ask the owner to open a tab for her? He knew her by sight by now – maybe he would trust her. But her parents had taught her never to buy anything on credit, and she was too proud and too shy to ask. She would just have to go back to the flat. She sighed and tightened her thin woollen scarf around her neck. Dusk was falling and the bitter wind ran right through her, but of course she hadn’t enough money to buy a bus ticket either – she would have to walk. As she turned round with another sigh, a hand was laid on her shoulder and she almost jumped in fright…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the "souris grises" were a derogatory term for the female Wehrmacht helpers, due to the colour of their uniforms 
> 
> I like to listen to "period" music when I write - if you want to get in the atmosphere, there's a rather good playlist on youtube   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUAigsMo_KI&list=RDFUAigsMo_KI&start_radio=1 which begins by the song I mention 
> 
> another good one is this one:   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=263OU85gZGc&t=2449s

“I am so sorry – I didn’t mean to startle you, Mademoiselle.”

The voice was unfamiliar, but the person to whom it belonged was no stranger. The gloved hand on Bernie’s shoulder was the one she had admired from afar when it was holding a cigarette…

“You didn’t startle me – you scared me half to death!” replied Bernie shakily. She had thought …Well, she had thought she would be controlled, and her papers would not stand up to inspection, and she would be arrested, and …

“Forgive me. It was not my intention. May I buy you coffee to apologise?” The stranger was smiling at her.

“You don’t have to – I mean – of course, you don’t have to. I’m fine – I’m completely fine. I…”

“You are not, you know. You’re shivering, and you look frozen. Come – I won’t take no for an answer.”

Bernie was torn – her natural shyness made her want to flee, but she couldn’t help being curious. Maybe it was a trap? Maybe the woman was one of those souris grises that would denounce her? The cold and her exhaustion won and she followed the woman meekly into the café. The brunette murmured a few words to a waiter and led Bernie to a table. She shed her coat and gestured Bernie to do the same. Bernie hesitated – the jumper she was wearing had become very worn at the elbows, and she certainly had no money to buy clothes. She finally took her coat off and slid her hands on her lap, in an attempt to conceal the threadbare parts.

The brunette reached into her handbag for a cigarette and held the pack out to Bernie, who refused with a grimace. The other woman laughed: “I should have guessed you didn’t smoke. Much too young and innocent to be perverted by the evils of tobacco…You’re right, child – cigarettes are bad for you, but they relax me.”

Bernie bristled: “I’m not a child! I’m twenty!”

“Ah …Twenty ! » The brunette began to hum and Bernie recognised a song by a pre-war singer, Berthe Sylva.

“On n'a pas tous les jours vingt ans, /Ca nous arrive un' fois seul'ment, /Et quand vient l'heur' de la vieillesse, /On apprécie mieux la jeunesse !/ De ce beau temps si vite passé »

(Twenty comes only once in life, not every day/ And when comes old age/ One remembers that too short time and appreciates it better)

She was interrupted by the waiter with two steaming cups and a plate with two croissants. Bernie’s eyes bulged. The brunette noticed and shrugged: “I figured you might be hungry – when one has money, one may as well put it to good use…”

“Even with money, I thought … I…” Bernie took a tentative bit – she hadn’t tasted anything as buttery and sweet since before the war. She licked her lips before remembering the woman sitting in front of her.

“Once I thought money could buy everything… I know now it isn’t true. What’s your name, child?”

Bernie took a sip of coffee – real coffee, not the disgusting ersatz – before answering: “Bernie – I mean Berenice, but my friends call me Bernie.” She hesitated – she didn’t dare ask the stranger’s name. She still couldn’t quite believe she was sitting with the woman she had admired so often from afar. Luckily, the woman introduced herself: “I’m Madame Campbell – Campbell & Co, you know. My husband’s business.”

Bernie didn’t know, but she nodded. She wanted to trust the woman, but since she had been forced to live in hiding, she was wary of anyone and everyone.

“What do you do in life, Berenice? Since you’re not a child anymore.”

Bernie straightened up – even in her dire circumstances, she was proud of her studies: “I’m at university – third year of medical school.”

Madame Campbell looked at her thoughtfully: “Are you now? Congratulations – it is not an easy path for a woman. I knew we had something in common.”

At Bernie’s interrogative look, she went on: “I studied medicine too, would you believe it? I thought – I thought I could make a difference. I had – I have – an older brother. He came back in 1918 – alive, but…”

“Shell-shocked?” guessed Bernie.

The brunette nodded: “Yes – I was only eight then, but I swore I would try to find a cure. And I did finish my studies, but – then I got married, and my husband …He didn’t want a doctor as a wife.”

“What a waste”, murmured Bernie. Then she blurted out: “So you’re only thirty-three! And you tell me I’m a child…”

“I see you’re good at maths. You’re probably a brilliant student. And yes, I am – but those thirteen years are worth a lifetime, Berenice. Enjoy your youth while you still can.”

Bernie sighed and suddenly felt all the weight of the world on her shoulders at the thought of going back to the flat. How could she live like that, not knowing if Jac’s beau would discover her secret and betray her? For one wild moment she wanted to confide in Madame Campbell. She wanted to lay all her troubles at the feet of the beautiful stranger – maybe it would lighten her burden. But she knew better – she shouldn’t trust anyone.

“That’s a heavy sigh for a young woman, dear. And by the way” Madame Campbell lowered her voice: “I know you’re Jewish, Berenice – you don’t have to be afraid of me – I haven’t invited you here to betray you.”

Bernie’s eyes widened in fright and she was halfway up when the brunette’s hand on her arm once again stopped her.

“I mean it, Berenice – I’m a friend. I want to help. Please let me help.”

Bernie sat back down and stared at the table. “How did you guess?” she murmured.

Madame Campbell gestured discreetly towards the back of Bernie’s chair: “Your coat – there is a slightly discoloured patch – a five-pointed patch.”

Bernie paled – what if other people had noticed?

The brunette pressed her fingers on her arm: “Don’t worry – it’s not that obvious. And I have been studying you, seating there in the corner with your books…”

“You have?”

“I have – I was – intrigued…”

“I’m not intriguing – I’m just – ordinary, I guess.”

“You, Berenice…”

“Wolfe” supplied Bernie.

“You, Berenice Wolfe, are far from ordinary. If only you knew…” Madame Campbell sighed. “Won’t you tell me what is troubling you? I’d really like to help.”

Bernie looked at the brown eyes and tried to read the woman’s character in them. She was fascinating, but was she trustworthy? Suddenly Bernie threw caution to the wind – after all, the stranger already knew her deepest, most dangerous secret. She lowered her eyes and began to speak: “My parents have been arrested – probably deported. I found – a friend offered me a room, but now she’s dating a German, and …I’m scared. But I have nowhere else to go. I – I have a kind of job – I mean I give English lessons to children, but I don’t make enough money to find another place to stay.”

Bernie lifted her eyes and saw that the brunette was beaming, looking delighted. Bernie frowned: “You find this funny?”

Madame Campbell hastened to explain; “No, no, of course not. But – I do believe I can help you. I have a daughter – Eleanor. She’s eight. She has a nanny, of course, but you could teach her English. And we have a spare room. I mean – we have the maid’s room – it’s quite independent from the flat. Our maid decided she would earn more in a factory – which is not true, but… Anyway, the room is yours if you want it. I wouldn’t – you would be quite free to come and go.”

“But – your husband? He wouldn’t mind …”

“My husband has nothing to do with the running of the household – he’s rarely home, and when he is, as long as he gets a hot meal and – well, you don’t worry about him, Berenice.”

Bernie hesitated and then nodded: “All right – I accept, thank you. But I will teach your daughter in exchange for the room, and I’ll pay you rent.”

Madame Campbell laughed: “Absolutely no need. And now, go and get your things. I’ll wait here for you.”

She raised her hand to ask for a glass of wine, and as Bernie left the café and turned back to look at her benefactress through the window, the brunette raised her glass at her.

Ten minutes later, as she was packing her few belongings and leaving a note to Jac to tell her not to worry, Bernie wondered if she had lost her mind. She was getting ready to live with a complete stranger. Maybe the woman was a witch, and she had put her under a spell… Or maybe…  Maybe her life would just be like that from then on, a series of unexpected encounters and unpredictable choices. Everything she hated – she liked to live by the rules – rules were safe. Uncertainty was not. Trust, in her experience, had to be earned, and yet she was willing to offer it to the dark-haired stranger.

When she arrived back at the café, Madame Campbell threw a note on the table – a rather large note – and took Bernie’s arm.

“We’ll take a cab – my home is not far, but I don’t want you to carry that all the way. Right now, we have a stop to make.”

The brunette directed her to a boutique a few metres from the café. When they came in, the owner greeted them enthusiastically. It was obvious that the woman was a well-known client.

“Madame Campbell! What a pleasure! What can I do for you today?”

“Monsieur Poirier. This young lady needs a new coat.”

Bernie started to protest but the brunette hushed her with a wave and she subsided, afraid of getting herself noticed. The store owner brought a choice of three coats, and Madame Campbell looked at them carefully, casting one aside immediately because of its unflattering line. Bernie reluctantly tried on the other two, and the brunette settled on a navy-blue one, much more stylish than the one Bernie owned. When the store owner went to pack it, Madame Campbell refused: “My friend will wear it now – hers isn’t warm enough.”  She paid and the owner handed Bernie a brown-paper parcel with her old coat.

Once they were outside the store, Bernie looked at the brunette reproachfully: “Why did you do that? You know I can’t afford a new coat.”

“Did I ask you to pay for it?”

Bernie bit her lips and said nothing. The brunette went on: “I did it for my peace of mind as well as yours – no more looking for “patches”. Now give me the parcel.”

Bernie obeyed and her companion laid it on the nearest bench. “There – no need to worry anymore.”

“Not about the coat at least”, murmured Bernie. “Thank you – you shouldn’t have, but – thank you.”

“You are very welcome, Berenice. Now let’s find ourselves a cab.”


	4. Chapter 4

Serena Campbell could feel her protégée shiver each time the cab went past a building requisitioned by the Germans, and in the 16th part of Paris, one of the wealthiest area of the city, those came up at almost every corner. Hotels, like the Majestic avenue Kléber, where the high military German command post had settled, secondary schools, housing SS barracks, and other non-specific buildings for the Security Services boulevard Lannes or the Gestapo on her own street, the Rue de la Pompe. She saw the younger woman tense as the cab stopped only a few buildings from the Gestapo headquarters. She felt the need to reassure her and leant towards her with a small smile: “Yes – I know. I wouldn’t have chosen to live here, but they moved in, we were already here. Don’t worry – you’ll be safe!” The younger woman gave her an uncertain smile in return, and for a moment Serena thought she would take flight as soon as the cab stopped.

The Campbell’s 19th-century hotel particulier was hidden behind black railings and in winter, its front garden looked bare and desolate. Maybe she should have warned her companion about the white-walled townhouse, mused Serena as she saw the young woman’s eyes widened. But maybe it would help her accept her hospitality. The house lacked warmth, both in terms of temperature and human relations, but it certainly offered plenty of room. She ushered Berenice inside and proceeded to show her around.

“This is the lounge – we don’t use it much. The dining-room. The library – my husband uses it as a smoking room, although I have tried to ask him to smoke outside – I like cigarettes, but I cannot stand the odour of his cigars. Upstairs are the bedrooms. Let me show you yours.”

Serena veered abruptly to the right and went down a few steps. A woman was busy peeling potatoes at a table: “This is Donna. Donna, this is Berenice Wolfe. She is going to live here and give private lessons to Eleanor. Berenice, this is our cook – she doesn’t live in, but she comes in everyday – she will take care of your meals.” She didn’t linger in the kitchen and pushed a door leading to a small wooden staircase. At the top of a flight of steps, she opened another door and gestured the younger woman, who still hadn’t uttered a words since they’d arrived at the house, inside.

“This will be your room – it is quite simple, but you will have your privacy. You also have a small bathroom and a water closet.”

Except from a single bed, a chest of drawers and a chair, the room was bare, but not unwelcoming. Serena frowned and added: “I’ll have a desk brought in – you’ll need it for your studies. And now, I’ll let you settle. I’ll introduce you to Eleanor tomorrow. Donna will leave your dinner in the kitchen – I am going out tonight.”

She deposited a light kiss on Berenice’s brow and went out. She went to give instructions to Donna about dinner and asked if the cook had seen her husband. Donna’s answer reassured her: “He said this morning not to bother about dinner for him, Ma’am.” Serena concealed a sigh and felt a little better. Of course, she would have to introduce Berenice to Edward, but …the later the better. It would give her time to concoct a story – maybe she could say the young woman was a friend’s niece, or … She still couldn’t quite believe she had invited a virtual stranger to live with them. Edward would be – actually, she didn’t know what he would feel, but the less they saw of each other the better. Edward usually preferred more striking women, not shy young students, but he would certainly notice Berenice’s charm – as she had. But he wouldn’t do anything under his own roof …would he? They had been married nine years, and he had had liaisons for probably nine of them. At first he had bedded her too – and he had been quite pleased to learn she was pregnant – it had given him a good reason to move to another bedroom. After the birth, he had come back to her a few times, mostly when inebriated, and she had gritted her teeth and fulfilled her marital duties. When her parents had consented to her studying medicine, they had also imposed a condition – Edward Campbell was an up-and-coming industrialist in the motor car sector. Her father had invested in Campbell Motors – which had become Campbell & Co – and she had been part of the deal. At that time, she didn’t have any interest in boys – she was already beginning to suspect that she might never have – and she thought that as long as her husband allowed her to study medicine, it was finally a small price to pay. As a young bride, it had been easier to pretend – Edward hadn’t cared much about her reactions anyway, as long as he could take his own pleasure. When he began not to come home at night, she knew he had found better company elsewhere – and she was relieved. Five years after her loveless match, a friend had lent her _Claudine à l’école_ , by a famous writer Colette. At first she had felt relieved – she was not, after all, abnormal – there were others like her – and others who dared to write about women loving women. And then, she had been afraid – had her friend somehow guessed that she might be “one of them”? Was she herself an “invert”? Serena had told her friend Roxanna that she had very much enjoyed the book, and Roxanna had smiled knowingly. A few days later, she had brought Serena another book, _La Garçonne_ , by Victor Margeritte, another well-known author. She had devoured it in one night, and then wondered if Roxanna had tried to shock her, or to warn her. The heroine, Monique, promised to an older man, discovers he has a mistress. She breaks the engagement and all hell breaks loose – disowned by her parents, but with money from an aunt, she begins to live high off the hog, sleeping with men and women, cutting her hair, drinking and smoking opium… Two books on the same theme could not be a coincidence. The next time they had seen each other, Roxanna had taken her to a bar, and she had discovered a whole new world.

She and Roxanna had never been intimate – Serena still wondered why. But at Le Monocle, and later on Chez Moune, she had found partners and pleasure. She had even met Colette, and other writers – Radclyffe Hall had offered her champagne, and she had spent an evening in her charming company. The clock striking eight interrupted her reminiscences. Her new protégée would probably be horrified if she learnt of her new friend’s deviant proclivity. She wasn’t ashamed of her sexual orientation, but nor would she claim it all over town. Especially now – the new Vichy laws weren’t kind to homosexuals. As for her husband – if he knew, he had kept quiet about it so far. So Berenice did not need to know. Anyway, she was a child – probably innocent in all matters of sex. There was no way she would…

Inviting the young woman to live with her had been a whim, an impulse, and yet somehow it had seemed perfectly natural at the time. She just had no idea why she had done it – only that she had wanted to, desperately, and that she would have died if Berenice had refused.

Serena put her make-up on carefully and checked her handbag – she usually spent quite a lot on tips… She glanced out of the window and saw her chauffeur waiting near the Delage. She had learnt to drive, and enjoyed it, but she did not like to leave the car in Montmartre unattended. She sprayed a last whiff of perfume on her scarf and left the room, wondering how her protégée was faring, but not daring to go and enquire.

 


	5. Chapter 5

A fortnight after her installation in the hotel particulier, Bernie hadn’t seen a lot of Madame Campbell. On the day after her arrival, she had been introduced to Eleanor and her nurse Marie-France. Since then, she had managed to give the child two lessons only, since between Eleanor’s schooldays and her own schedule at university and with her other pupils, she had not had much time. She still couldn’t quite believe she was living with a family she knew absolutely nothing about. She felt like a country girl forced to leave her family to go and work as hired help in the big city. The décor of the townhouse reinforced that feeling – although her own family wasn’t poor, her parents’ income was in no way comparable with the Campbells’.

She hadn’t seen much of Monsieur Campbell either, except for one particularly uncomfortable time. She had just come back from the university in the early evening and the Campbells had both been in the lounge. She had tried to slink to her room unnoticed but she had heard a male voice call out: “Hey there! Who’s that, skulking in my house? You haven’t replaced the maid, have you, dear?”

Madame Campbell had then called her in the room and given a rather garbled explanation of who she was, or rather who she was supposed to be – the niece of one of Madame Campbell’s oldest friend, whose parents had been stranded in the South of France – the “zone libre” – and had thought best to remain there. She had added that Berenice, being proficient in English, would give their daughter private lessons.  He had stood up then and come to shake her hand, introducing himself while openly ogling her – undressing her with his eyes: “Edward Campbell – welcome to our home. You’ll be a very pretty addition to it, I must say… Maybe you could give me a few private lessons too, Mademoiselle…”

Madame Campbell had whitened and Bernie had blushed and escaped to her room. She had not seen him again since. Actually, she saw more of Donna than anyone else, as she had breakfast in the kitchen. Sometimes the child wasn’t awake yet and Marie-France joined her for coffee – the Campbells seemed to have very good contacts on the black market - and baguette with a spoonful of jam. Then she left for university, hours before, according to the cook, the mistress of the house rang for her own breakfast. This did not actually surprise Bernie – Madame Campbell went out almost every evening. Always with the same man. A man who was definitely not Edward Campbell. She had been breathing the evening air at her window, trying to get a musty smell out of her bedroom and to clear her head when she had seen him the first time. A tall, rather lanky man waiting near a long navy car. And then she had seen Madame Campbell come out of the house, all dressed up in her fur coat and get in the car. The scenario had repeated itself almost every night since and each time, Bernie felt almost sick at the sight. She was not as naïve as to think all wedded unions were happy ones. The few times Madame Campbell had mentioned her husband, she had done so in a less than complementary fashion. But Bernie didn’t want her to be unfaithful. Since the first time she had seen the older woman in the café, she had built an idealised vision of her, and infidelity shattered her imagined figure. She couldn’t understand why she minded so much, though, and this bothered her. Was it because since she lived in the house, she had seen less of the other woman than before? Once again she couldn’t put a name to her feeling – she couldn’t possibly fathom it might be jealousy…

 

As usual that morning, when she left the house, Madame Campbell’s shutters were still closed. Bernie walked briskly to the bus stop – she didn’t want to be late to her first lecture, the professor tending to hail latecomers very publicly…Half an hour later, she slid on a bench with two minutes to spare, near Eric, one of her colleagues who greeted with a wink “Cutting it close, Wolfe!”

“Hush! I made it, that’s all that matters.” 

An hour into the anatomy lecture, they heard noises in the street and doors banging. The students began to murmur and some stood up, intend on seeing what was going on. Five minutes later, Wehrmacht soldiers burst in the amphitheatre, guns drawn, and began to round up the young men and women. Bernie began to shiver violently and thought her legs would never carry her to the courtyard. Once there, she realised all the university had been emptied – students, professors and administrative staff were standing huddled together, surrounded by Gestapo agents and soldiers. Many of the women were crying, and some of the men looked close to tears too. It was hard to see what was happening, but soon they got separated in groups and pushed into queues to get their papers checked. Bernie thought it would all end there, after all. Not with a random check in the street, not because of Jac’s beau, but because she had wanted to study medicine. Because she had insisted on going to university. As she waited for her turn, she tried to gather her thoughts, but her mind was empty.

“Hande hoch! Schnell!”

She turned her head instinctively to where the shout had come, just in time to see one of her professors fall to the ground, a bloody hole on his forehead. She gasped and staggered and she would have fallen if another woman had not reached out to steady her. When her turn came to show her papers, she took a deep breath and made her face unreadable – she wouldn’t give the “boches” the satisfaction of showing her fear. The Gestapo agent, an older man, gave the papers a cursory glance, and reached out to caress her hair: “Schön – meine Tochter sähe aus wie Du”. She had to use all her willpower to keep from recoiling, and as he waved her to the right, nausea rose in her throat. She would never know if her fake papers were good enough, or if she was saved because she looked like the man’s daughter, but half an hour later, she and the other people who had been “cleared” were released in the street.

She did not even consider waiting for the bus. She walked all the way back to the house, arriving breathless and ashen. When she arrived at the front door, she realised her keys must have got lost in the crush. She rang the bell and almost jumped at the noise it made. She heard footsteps and Madame Campbell opened the door, a pen in her hand, a stocking seam half-painted on her right leg. She took one look at Bernie, dropped the pencil and opened her arms. Bernie rushed into them and began to sob on her shoulder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I know, the Parisian universities were not raided, but the University of Strasbourg was in 1943, ending up in several deaths and more than a thousand deportations


	6. Chapter 6

Madame Campbell let her cry in her arms for what seemed like ages. Bernie was almost hysterical, too distraught to explain the cause of her tears. However, the hand that stroked her hair and her back helped her calm down. When she had sufficiently recovered, she explained as best as she could what had happened. Madame Campbell made a horrified face and sighed: “I’m so sorry. I was afraid this would happen. You’re not going back there, of course.”

Bernie faced her with a frown: “What do you mean, not going back?”

“What I say, Berenice – of course you’re not going back to university, _ma petite étoile_. It’s much too dangerous.”

“Don’t call me that – and don’t tell me what to do either! For goodness’ sake, you know nothing about me and I know nothing about you! I don’t even know your Christian name! You have no right to…”

All the tension she had felt during the day, all the rage too came out in the words and the older woman recoiled at her tone, as if Bernie had slapped her. If she had noticed, Bernie would probably have backed down, but she was in full flow: “How dare you decide for me? You’ve no right! You’re not my mother, or …or anything to me!”

Reeling from the verbal assault, Madame Campbell’s eyes moistened too and she swallowed hard: “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to tell you what to do. And I certainly don’t want you to see me as your mother. My name is Serena – I would like if you used it – Madame makes me feel old. As for not knowing much about me – you’re right. I’m sorry about that too. We haven’t had much time to talk. Just give me ten minutes – I’ll finish getting dressed and tell Fletcher I’m not going out tonight. We’ll have dinner together and – talk.”

Bernie then took in the satin negligée the older woman was wearing, still damp on the shoulder from her own tears. “Oh yes, of course – go and tell your lover you won’t be available tonight!” she retorted bitterly.

Serena Campbell blushed and grinned suddenly, half abashed, half mischievous: “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong end of the stick there, Berenice. Fletch is not my lover – poor man, he would probably be quite horrified… Fletcher is happily married, and my driver. I can drive, but I occasionally need someone else to.”

Bernie’s blushes rivalled Serena’s: “I’m so sorry, Madame – Serena. I thought – I know it’s none of my business, but…”

Serena sobered up: “And now I guess you’re wondering where I go in the evenings.”

Bernie bit her lips and nodded.

“Well – I might tell you later, _ma petite étoile_. Now go and freshen up, and I’ll finish dressing up and tell Donna we’ll serve ourselves dinner tonight.”

Once in her bedroom, Bernie wiped her face with a wet washcloth and tried to restore some order to her tousled hair. She also changed her blouse and skirt, which had been splattered with mud. When she timidly joined the older woman in the living-room, she found her lounging on an armchair, looking very comfortable in a black velvet day gown. She wished she could look as stylish and elegant, but most of her clothes had had to remain behind. Not that she had ever possessed anything in black velvet – her mother would have said she was much too young to wear that kind of material.

“Come in – sit down – here, near the fire. Have a drink – Picon, Suze, kir, scotch?”

Bernie didn’t want to say she had never tasted any of those and murmured: “What you’re having, Serena.”

Serena took pity on her protégée and even though she wanted nothing more than a stiff scotch, she poured two glasses of white wine with Crème de cassis. It was more than enough to warm someone as little accustomed to alcohol as Bernie, and after a few glasses, Serena decided they’d better have something to eat before the younger woman lost all her wits to drink. After a rather frugal and tepid supper, they remained in the kitchen, the only warm room in the house.

“So – what do you want to know about me, Berenice?”

By then Bernie was feeling pleasantly relaxed, and although she had not forgotten her ordeal, she was at least past the shock. She knew Serena Campbell was right – it would be foolish for her to return. She did want to know if her friends had made it alive – Eric was very deeply implicated in the Resistance, and she figured that if he had been able to escape, he would go into hiding. Raf di Lucca, another of her good friends, had been absent that day – she hoped he had been warned to stay away – foreigners were even more in danger than Frenchmen. Maybe she could go back to the café – she suspected the owner had contacts in one of the networks – maybe he could find out for her. If she managed to stay safe until the end of the war …Maybe she would be able to go back to medicine. She turned towards Serena: “How could you bear to abandon medicine – for a man?”

Serena smiled at the scorn in the last word: “It’s not like I had a choice. Once I was married… Edward was in charge. What he wanted was a pretty wife to parade in front of his friends and business contacts. I think he liked it that I wasn’t a complete nitwit, but he didn’t want me to be cleverer than him either. He didn’t want me meeting other people either.”

“But that’s just terrible!”

“It is what it is, _ma petite étoile_. And after I discovered his – indiscretions – well, he became more amenable to give me freedom, but still he forbade me to open a practice, so…He still wanted to be the only breadwinner.”

Bernie bit her lips: “That doesn’t sound fair. He gets everything, and you get – what? A cheating husband?”

“And money – when my father died, I got a little inheritance, but nothing as much as what Edward gives me. Status, too – I am a married woman.”

Serena’s eyes saddened as she said that and Bernie wondered what the older woman was thinking of. She didn’t know how to ask, though, so instead, she asked about the other thing she’d been mulling over: “Why do you call me that?”

“I’m sorry?”

“ _Ma petite étoile_ – why do you call me that?”

“Oh …Well, do you know the song?”

Bernie shook her head and Serena began to hum. “ _C'est l'image de la flamme_

_Que je ressens en mon cœur_

_C'est la douceur de ton âme,_

_Le reflet de mon bonheur »_

She really had a lovely voice, reflected Bernie – a Dietrich-kind of voice. Serena could probably have gone on the stage if she hadn’t married – another career down the drain because of a man.

“It’s hard to explain”, went on Serena. “It’s like – you brought something to my life. Like a star shining a little ray of “starshine” in my heart.”

Bernie blushed and Serena laid her hand on her arm: “I’m sorry, Berenice – I didn’t mean to embarrass you! I shouldn’t have said anything. But if you really mind, I won’t call you that again. I swear!”

“No – no, I don’t mind” Bernie replied softly. “I prefer that to Berenice anyway – but you can call me Bernie, too.”

When both women went to bed that night, they both had a little something glowing inside. An embryo of something. Or like the song said “a little golden nail that sparkles over the roofs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nFHw27sD58
> 
> "C'est une petite étoile" by Jeanne Aubert


	7. Chapter 7

After a few days of not going to university and only going out to see her few students, Bernie was getting fit to be tied. She had gone back to the café, but the owner had told her he hadn’t heard from either Ric or Raf. She didn’t want to believe the worst, but the Resistance network they belonged to had been decimated, and she had little hope of seeing them again. Serena had insisted on taking her shopping for clothes, and lending her some coupons, and she had reluctantly agreed, as she couldn’t keep going to her pupils’ in the same worn clothes. Serena had also chosen for her an evening dress, although Bernie had protested – where would she wear it?

Sometimes they played cards together in the afternoons, or Serena went out while Bernie pored over the medicine books Serena had unearthed from the attic for her. Along with the university, she had had to abandon another safe haven, the library. In the evenings, either they dined with Serena’s husband or more often than not she dined alone in the kitchen while Serena was out. Bernie still wasn’t sure where Serena went in the evenings. When she had asked her, Serena had told her she was seeing friends. Bernie couldn’t help but think those friends were probably of the male persuasion and that one them must also share more than drinks and dancing with Serena. She couldn’t help feeling a little miffed about it, either. When she was playing cards with Serena, or just listening to the wireless, she felt almost happy – she could almost forget her situation. But when she was alone, the dark thoughts came back with a vengeance.

As she was reading in her room one night, she heard voices in the hall – loud voices, threatening voices. Immediately, she began to shake – what if the Gestapo had come to arrest her? Serena had tried to reassure her several times – her husband had good friends among the SS officials – he would never be suspected of harbouring a Jew. Indeed, some high-ranking officers came for dinner sometimes, and she hid in her room then. When she calmed down enough to listen, she understood the raised voices were only Edward Campbell’s and Serena’s. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but even though her room was well away from the hall, he was speaking so loudly she couldn’t help it. When she caught the gist of the argument, she bit her lips – it was definitely none of her business, and yet she was so curious…A few minutes later, she wished she hadn’t heard anything. She tried to put her hands over her ears, but of course it was too late – too late too not to hear the slap and the running steps up the stairs, followed by a slammed door. Then other steps stalking towards the front door, and this one slamming too.

After that she didn’t hesitate anymore – she hurried to Serena’s room and knocked gently. She could hear the other woman sobbing and when Serena didn’t answer she pushed the door and slipped inside. When the brunette lifted her head from the pillow, Bernie saw the red fingermarks on her cheek and she rushed to her side. Sitting next to Serena on the bed, she took her in her arms and held her close.

“Shh – it’s all right – I’ve got you. It’s all right – he’s gone.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Bernie. What if he comes back?”

“He left – don’t worry. I want to be here.”

Serena wiped her eyes with the hand and whispered: “You shouldn’t be here – you shouldn’t have heard that. I should never have told you to come here.”

“I’m glad I’m here – you’re not alone, Serena.”

“But – aren’t you horrified? I don’t repulse you?”

Instead of answering, Bernie held the brunette closer and let her head drop on Serena’s shoulder. They clung to each other and Bernie lost herself in the embrace, the words she had heard twirling in her head, making no sense and still somehow, in a twisted way, feeling so right. “You thought I wouldn’t notice? In a hotel – in plain daylight? How dare you! You disgusting whore! That woman – where did you find her? One of your so-called friends? Another freak like you? Or did you pay for her to eat your pussy? Did you? With my money?”

When Serena sought her lips, Bernie responded shyly at first, and then avidly with hers. Serena’s hands caressed her blouse, and Bernie found herself wishing the sensitive fingers were stroking her bare skin instead. When they slid under the fabric and found her nipples, she shuddered and felt a current of warmth spread through her body. She discovered sensations she had never experimented before, and when Serena stopped her caresses abruptly Bernie whimpered in distress, her body protesting the sudden deprivation.

“I can’t, _ma petite étoile_ – it wouldn’t be right. I can’t do that to you.”

“Please, Serena – please!”

“No – not like that – not now. You need to go back to your room now. Tomorrow – we’ll talk.”

They did talk the next day, Serena doing her best to explain how she had realised she enjoyed the company of women. All night long Bernie had pondered the revelation. Not only the fact that Serena was not like other women, but the fact that her body had come alive under a woman’s fingers. What did it mean for her? Was she like that too? And if she was, did she mind? She thought that on the whole, she didn’t. She was, however, definitely jealous of the woman – or women – who shared Serena’s intimacy.

They had naturally settled on the sofa, Bernie leaning against Serena, the brunette’s fingers in her hair. Serena didn’t apologise – she was not ashamed of her sexuality. She wasn’t exactly proud of the number of women she had bedded, though. But when she was at the club – when she was free, it was all too easy to make a conquest. Each night she could have a different woman, and she rarely refused. She couldn’t say if her desire still drove her or if these encounters had become a need, an urgent void to fill. She treaded softly, however, because she couldn’t have borne it if Bernie had rejected her. She knew now that if she had Bernie she would need none other, but she was loath to lure her into clandestinity and a life subject to public scorn. And yet, when Bernie asked her whether she would take her along one night, to the cabaret, she didn’t refuse.

  


	8. Chapter 8

The evening didn’t happen at once. Serena went out alone several more nights before she suggested Bernie come with her. And during the days, nothing more happened, to Bernie’s great displeasure. She relished each time their hands brushed against each other, and the few butterfly kisses Serena dropped on her cheeks or her brow when they were alone, but she wanted more. She wondered why it had never been like that when she had been with Marcus. She had never felt like that when he had fumbled with her clothes and tried clumsily to make his affection known. Her body had never reacted like this – as if it had been burnt by a soothing wind…

Each night she remained alone in her room, knowing Serena was out with others, she let her thoughts stray from her books and she tried to imagine the music hall – that mysterious place which seemed to bring so much pleasure to the older woman. This wasn’t an easy task, as she obviously had never frequented such a place. Serena had told her singers came, and an orchestra, and attractions – she hadn’t said which kind, and Bernie imagined magicians, or maybe animal numbers… Before the war, her parents had taken her to the circus and to the theatre a few times to see operettas – _Les Trois Valses_ with Yvonne Printemps, where she had fallen in love with the singer’s voice, _Au pays du soleil_ , with Jenny Helia and Alibert – at the time the song “ _J’ai rêvé d’une fleur_ ”, with its lyrics _“J’ai rêvé d’un amour/qui durerait toujours”_ had meant for her she wished she would be with Marcus forever – and _Le pays du sourire_ \- and in her mind the music hall was a mix of both. The rest she didn’t try – didn’t want to imagine. Now that she knew the power of Serena’s charm, she didn’t want to picture it working on other women. Finally, one very grey, laden and wet day, when she had arrived back at the house thoroughly drenched and miserable, she dared to broach the issue again. She didn’t want to nag, really, but she felt so despondent she just felt she wouldn’t be able to bear it if Serena left her alone again that night. She was almost taken aback when she won her case and Serena told her to go and get dressed.

Bernie hurriedly went to put on the little black dress Serena had bought her, thankful that the latter had also given her a pair of silk stockings, for she had no time to paint her legs. She didn’t usually wear any make-up and despaired a little at her ashen complexion. She pinched her cheeks, hoping to bring a little colour on them, and then blushed when she looked at herself in the full-length mirror. With the fabric restrictions, the skirt showed a lot more leg than she was used to…

Serena’s smile when she greeted her at the bottom of the steps made her redden even more, but for a totally different reason – it also made her heart go pitapat…Fletcher gave her a smile too as he opened the car door for her – an encouraging smile, it seemed to her, and indeed she was in need of courage. During the drive she suddenly had the urge to ask him to turn around and take her back to the house. Serena must have sensed Bernie’s fear because she laid a comforting hand on her knee and the blonde relaxed a little. Fletcher parked the car in a dark street, under a streetlamp and stepped out. Bernie was going to follow him but Serena increased the pressure on her thigh: “We’ll wait a little, darling – he’ll come back to get us.”

This cloak-and-dagger stuff did nothing to calm Bernie’s nerves. “Why? Are we- are we in danger?”

Serena shook her head: “No – not really. But it’s always better to make sure. Ah! There he is – let’s go, _ma petite étoile_.”

They followed a short dark corridor to a small badly-lit room where a very pretty girl took their coats. Then Serena took Bernie’s arm and led her towards another larger room which seemed full of people and smoke. Above the hubbub of conversation, she could hear a woman sing, and as she scanned the room, she spotted a small stage with a sculptured blonde in a red satin sheath dress. Her deep voice compelled Bernie to listen to the song and she blushed crimson when she took in the words. She had never heard such explicit lyrics… Serena hummed along and did not appear unduly troubled. “What is this song?” murmured Bernie.

“ _Obsession_ – Suzy sings it rather well, doesn’t she?” said another deep, tobacco-stained voice near them. Bernie nodded as Serena smiled at the newcomer: “She does indeed, Madame. May I introduce Berenice?

Bernie did a double take as she looked at the owner of the voice. Three-pieces suit, black tie…

“Berenice – a charming name for a charming young lady. Come with me, please, Marie will find you a table.”

Once they were seated, Bernie turned wondering eyes towards Serena: “I thought – I thought she was a man!”

“That was Madame Fleur, the owner of this establishment.”

“Fleur? Surely not her real name?”

“I think her real name is Florence. And as for her appearance…Well, she finds it more comfortable – truer to her real self. Many come here just for that, you know – to be themselves.”

Bernie looked around the room – she hadn’t been to many bars, and never to a music hall, but at first glance she couldn’t really see what Serena meant. Most of the tables were occupied by couples, and on the dance floor, bodies huddled together in a languorous tango. Bernie noticed that Madame Fleur was now dancing with a young woman. The men looked very dapper in suits and ties, and the women wore colourful dresses and ornate hairdos. She was going to tell Serena she couldn’t see what she meant, when a young woman approached the table with a bottle of champagne: “Your usual, Madame?”

“Yes, thank you, Marie.” Serena handed her a note and the young woman leant to kiss Serena on the cheek. Serena draw her in by the chin for a long lingering kiss on the lips, and Marie reciprocated eagerly. When she left, Bernie looked at Serena with reproachful eyes: “Is she one of your conquests?”

“You shouldn’t care so much, _ma petite étoile_ – Marie – is just doing her job.”

“Her job as a prostitute?”

Serena pursed her lips: “Marie is not a prostitute – she’s a hostess. Her job is to make sure the customers consume enough alcohol – I’ve been told they are paid according to the number of corks…”

“So you’ve never slept with her?”

Serena blushed and didn’t reply – now she had Bernie with her, she could imagine how some of the sleazier aspects of the place could shock the younger woman.

“I – have paid for some “services” in the past”, she admitted reluctantly. “And some of the girls here do work as prostitutes – but not the hostesses.”

“I see.” It was all as clear as mud for Bernie, but she didn’t want to show her ignorance. “Somehow I didn’t think there would be as many men…” she remarked.

Serena laughed: “Oh, my dear – look more closely, will you?” Then, taking pity on her younger companion, she explained: “Tonight is a women-only night. All these women are taking risks – after all, trousers-wearing is illegal for women – but they are definitely not men.”

Bernie opened her eyes wide and indeed, now that she knew, she saw the dancing couples differently. Even with cropped hair and even sometimes monocles, some of the suited figures had feminine attributes.

“Enough for now – let’s go and dance- I’ll teach you how to tango.”

Later that evening, Madame Fleur claimed Serena for a dance. As she expertly led her across the floor, the cabaret owner complimented Serena on her companion: “Your girl is very pretty, Madame. But how old is she?”

“Hmm – Berenice is twenty, I believe. More than of age, I assure you…”

Madame Fleur gave her a knowing look, and Serena bit her lips before replying: “I’ll be careful, I promise. When I – took her in, I never thought – and anyway, nothing happened – yet. She’ll be twenty-one in…” Serena realised she had no idea when Bernie’s birthday was. “Soon.”

“Just be careful – I’d hate to lose one of my best customers to one of those barbaric new laws.”

While Serena had been claimed by Madame Fleur, Bernie sat idly at the table, sipping the rest of her champagne. She was interrupted by a smooth voice. When she raised her eyes, she found a tall, handsome flapper in a grey serge suit smiling at her.

“I’m Alex and you look lonely – would you care to dance?”

“I don’t – I don’t really dance.”

“Of course you do, Mademoiselle…”

“Bernie – and I don’t, really I don’t – besides, I’m with someone.”

Bernie looked at the dance floor but Serena seemed very far away.

“Seems to me the someone must be otherwise occupied. It’s a crime to leave such a beautiful woman alone – let me get you some more champagne.”

The newcomer hailed one of the waitresses, secured two full flutes and offered one to Bernie. Bernie took it hesitantly and brought it to her lips to put up a good front. She was getting a little tipsy and couldn’t help thinking Alex was really very kind to bother about her when Serena had deserted her. Alex was trying her best to draw her, if not onto the dance floor, at least into conversation when two hands landed rather possessively on Bernie’s shoulder.

“Alex – I’m sure Berenice told you she was not alone.”

“Serena – well, you shouldn’t leave your girl alone if you don’t want anyone to hit on her…”

“Berenice is not “my girl”; Alex, but I think you should go – I can see someone making eyes at you over there”, replied Serena, pointing towards a pretty brunette in a corner.

Alex seized Bernie’s hand and kissed it, nodded to Serena and left the table. Serena slid back in the vacated chair and looked at Bernie: “Are you all right? Did she bother you? Alex can be a bit full-on sometimes.”

“You know her too,” accused Bernie. “You know everyone here! Have you…”

“Shh” Serena’s finger came to rest on Bernie’s lips. “No, I haven’t slept with her. Nor with everyone here, but I have money, and that can be useful, here as well as anywhere else. People know me.”  Serena replaced her finger by a kiss and Bernie’s whole body tingled in reply. Madame Fleur came by their table and gave Serena a warning look. Serena scowled: “Was there something you wanted to tell me, Madame?”

“Yes - Leah asked after you – I take it you’re not going to see her tonight?”

Serena hesitated for half a second: “Tell her I’ll find her later.”

When the orchestra stopped and a pianist started to play alone, all looks turned towards the stage, now dark and empty except for a single chair on which a woman came to sit. Bernie gave Serena a questioning look: “Another singer?” Serena felt a little uneasy and cleared her throat: “Hmm – no, not exactly, dear – this might not be quite to your liking, but – please try to keep an open mind.”

When the woman stood up and began to move lasciviously to the music, all eyes focused on her. Then she threw her stole to the side of the stage and putting one leg on the chair, she started to unhook one of her stockings, which she threw negligently to the side too. Then the other…Then she slipped out of her dress and Bernie watched mesmerised as she followed suit with the rest, all the while following the piano’s melody.

“This is – this is unexpected”, she murmured to Serena, her throat curiously dry.

“Mademoiselle Essie is the best stripper here – very talented, don’t you think?”

Bernie could only nod. A little while later, Serena excused herself and disappeared in the back of the club. Now feeling pleasantly buzzed, Bernie didn’t really care, and even accepted a dance with Alex when the latter came once more to try her luck. When the paso doble segued into a tango, Alex did not let go and Bernie, sneaking a dance at their table and seeing Serena still wasn’t back, decided she might as well go on dancing. She was losing herself into the music when Serena cut in and Alex reluctantly abandoned her. They finished the dance and Serena suggested they ought to go home.

 In the car, Bernie asked her where she had disappeared to, but Serena remained evasive. “Just some business to clear up, _ma petite étoile_ \- nothing to concern yourself about.”  Bernie buried her head in Serena’s shoulder, unwilling to do more in the presence of the chauffeur, but Serena had no such qualms and her hand ventured on the breasts barely hidden by Bernie’s dress. Bernie stifled a gasp and tried not to react, but the increasing pressure on her delicate skin drove her to distraction…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-rQEbqZsCA  
> for an extract of Trois Valses with Yvonne Printemps or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrS2dTxPx64&t=244s in the 1938 movie 
> 
> (I have a spot soft for this singer and this operetta because my grand-father was in the orchestra when it premiered in Paris in 1937
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6HKvD5f9f3c for J'ai rêvé d'une fleur ( the singer's voice is very Parisian and less easy to listen to) 
> 
> and of course Obsession by Suzy Solidor (with period pics of lesbian couples - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6N-z5vF3qjY
> 
> the very explicit lyrics :   
> Chaque femme je la veux /Des talons jusqu'aux cheveux / J'emprisonne dans mes vœux /Les inconnues  
> Sous leurs jupons empesés / Mes rêves inapaisés//Glissent de sournois baisers//Vers leur peau nue  
> Je déshabille leurs seins//Mes caresses par essaims//S'ébattent sur les coussins//De leurs poitrines  
> Je me vautre sur leurs flancs//Ivre du parfum troublant//Qui monte des ventres blancs//Vers mes narines  
> Douce, je promène ma main//Aux rondeurs du marbre humain//Et j'y cherche le chemin//Où vont mes lèvres  
> Ma langue en fouille les plis/ Et sur les torses polis/ Buvant les divins oublis/ J'endors mes fièvres  
> (Obsession, sung by Suzy Solidor)
> 
> Suzy Solidor was kind of the Heather Peace of the time ...
> 
> Chez Fleur is inspired by Le Fétiche, which became Chez Moune after the war ; pics of such cabarets here : https://www.messynessychic.com/2016/09/14/inside-le-monocle-the-parisian-lesbian-nightclub-of-the-1930s/


	9. Chapter 9

Now Serena had shared that part of her life with her, her thirst for it must have been quenched. Or at least so thought Bernie, and so she hoped. Because for the last month, she had almost never spent an evening alone. Whether they were playing cards, or listening to the wireless together, or Serena was playing the piano, they spent some quiet time together. Sometimes, when it was her nanny’s night off, Eleanor joined them in the lounge for a treat, and Bernie got almost jealous of the child as she nestled against her mother in the sofa.

During the days, their routines had not changed. Serena still went about her business which didn’t include her. As far as she knew, Serena led a rather idle life – a few hours per week given to the Red Cross, and many hours to enjoying herself as far as one could in an occupied country. Bernie saw her leave with a tennis racket sometimes, or just dressed to the nines to go and have lunch with friends. As for herself, some of her pupils had been sent to the country by their parents, so she had even more time on her hands. She didn’t dare go to the cinema, too afraid of raids, but she couldn’t stay indoors all day either, so she started going to the café again. One day, as she was pouring over her books, she almost died with fright as someone put his hands on her eyes.

“Shh- it’s me – don’t worry.”

“Raf! That was a really stupid thing to do, you – you …” She pummelled him with her fists before falling into his arms. “I thought you were dead! Thank God – you’re all right.”

And indeed, Raf looked very much thinner, but still the same man she used to know – only with hair dyed blonde and thick black-rimmed glasses.

“Well- I’m not – I just had to disappear for a bit – but I’m all right now – I found a job at a chemist and a place to stay.”

“What about Ric? Do you know if …?”

“Yes – Ric is safe too, but he had to disappear a bit further – he was too noticeable.”

Indeed, the big Senegalese, one of the few Black medical students, could hardly dye his hair blond. Bernie was elated that both her friends had survived the raid. Although Raf did not have much time to spare, he sometimes met Bernie at the café and walked her home afterwards. One evening, Bernie forgot to be discreet and told Serena about her friend – about how she wished she could find a real job, too. After all, if Raf had managed with his fake papers, so could she.

“So you want to jeopardise your safety for a job? And where would you find one anyway? You’re already putting yourself in danger by giving your little private lessons!” snapped Serena.

Bernie chewed on her lower lips and tried not to cry – she couldn’t stand it when Serena acted all bossy and superior.

“As for that Raf,” Serena went on, “How do you know he’s not a collabo? Don’t you find it a little suspicious that he managed to escape the raid?”

“Oh, like your husband, you mean?”

“Don’t talk about things you know nothing about, Berenice!”

“How dare you say that? What do you know about being hunted anyway? About having to hide? You and your comfortable little life, with your loaded husband! You and…”

Like a wounded animal, Bernie lashed out with everything she could. Serena reddened and riposted: “Be quiet! You know nothing about my life – nothing about my husband either! Just – just be quiet.”

“I should leave – I’ll ask Raf if he know where I can stay. It’s not safe for me here – and you don’t respect me. You still think I’m a stupid child.”

“You can’t leave me!”

“Of course I can – I can’t stay here!”

Serena fell to her knees in front of Bernie and laid her head on the younger woman’s lap, gripping her thighs. “Berenice – Bernie – _ma petite étoile_ – you can’t leave; you just – you just can’t – I need you – I… I think I love you.” she finished in a murmur.  

Bernie wanted to bask in the sweet words forever- she wanted to believe them, she wanted to believe everything would be all right. “I – I more than like you too”, she murmured back.

The bed in Serena’s bedroom was larger, but it was in her own narrow bed that Bernie discovered how a woman’s touch could bring her to ecstasy with the merest caress to her core and her soul. She knew that night there would be no going back – no dithering between the frontiers of pleasure and decency. If this was a perversion, then so be it – she was a deviant, and she would thoroughly enjoy being one, so long as Serena was with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Ric is from Ghana, but it made more sense to have him come from a former French colony


	10. Chapter 10

Her days felt less empty now her nights were filled with love. Even though she still yearned for an occupation that would keep her busy while Serena went to her business, she felt more settled, less impatient. Serena still disappeared for most of the day without explanation, but it mattered less. She took her to Le Fétiche a few more times and although Bernie enjoyed dancing in Serena’s arms, their waists pressed together in a tango’s falsely chaste embrace, she couldn’t bear the predatory glances thrown at them, nor the way Serena sometimes undressed with her eyes some of the more feminine women there. One of those nights, the cabaret had been opened to men, and Bernie had begged Serena to leave – the mere presence of German officers made her skin crawl, and the risks were too great – if her relationship with Serena came out in the open, if one of Serena’s former conquests were to expose them, they would both be sent to prison, or worse. She was still a few months shy of her 21st birthday, and until then they would have the Damocles sword of penal sanctions hanging over them.

As their relationship strengthened, they became less careful – sometimes, if Edward Campbell warned Donna he wouldn’t come home for the night, they would sleep in Serena’s bedroom, and any twinges of apprehension Bernie had then would usually dissolve under Serena’s demanding fingers. She had a moment of panic when during a stormy night Eleanor had burst into the room crying for her mother, and the child had been startled out of her panic by finding her mother and Bernie in the same bed. Bernie had spun her a tale about her mother not feeling well and her having stayed with Serena during the night to make sure she didn’t become sicker. It didn’t quite explain why both women were naked in bed, but the little girl didn’t hesitate before sliding under the cover and snuggling between the two of them. Bernie jumped out of bed and grabbed the dressing gown she had left on the floor – even though the child was no immediate threat, what if she told her father? What would happen then? She skulked back to her room to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning in her own bed, unable to switch off the thread of “what ifs?” in her brain.

It should have served as a warning – they ought to have been more cautious. But they were both so starved of affection and so eager to explore their new feelings that staying apart seemed like an insurmountable ordeal. And yet, at the bottom of her heart, Bernie knew they were living on borrowed time. Therefore, it came as a shock, but not so much as a surprise when the next time Serena’s bedroom door burst open at night, a furious Edward barged in and glared at them disgustedly.

“How dare you do that under my roof?” he spat at them. “So I was right – that’s why you brought that little whore to live here - so you could have her at hand and shag her whenever you wanted! Don’t think I’ll let you screw me over that way – actually, I think what you dykes need is a good dose of cock.”

The two naked women cowered under the sheets as Edward strode over to the bed and threw Serena to the floor, turning towards Bernie as he unzipped his trousers and let his member out. She remained frozen in terror, her eyes riveted on something she had never seen before and was waved threateningly at her. Her eyes darted towards her lover who was pleading with Edward to leave them alone. As Serena tried unsteadily to rise to her feet, he backhanded her again to the floor and turned again towards Bernie with a lecherous grin.  “Ready for your first taste of dick, slut?”  He was towering over her, making it impossible for her to move. She closed her eyes and resigned herself to the inevitable when she heard a crash and Edward’s body slumped to the side. The remains of a large vase laid shattered on the ground and Serena threw a robe towards her: “Quick! We have to get out of here!”.

Serena grabbed her dress and shoes and hurried Bernie out of the door, turning the key as they went out. “This will buy us a little time, but not much. We have to get your things.” Bernie was shaking so much she could hardly close the clasp on her bag. She threw on some clothes and followed Serena to the garage. As Serena started the car, Edward’s words kept ringing in Bernie’s head – she couldn’t quite believe he hadn’t followed through with his threat. She was safe – for now. As Serena drove into the night, Bernie looked at her companion’s set jaw and at the large bruise that covered part of her cheekbone – what would become of them now? And where was Serena taking her?

Serena stopped the car a few streets away, in front of an unassuming block of flat. She stepped out of the car and Bernie followed her silently. They went up to the last floor and Serena knocked on a dark blue door. A bleary-eyed Fletcher opened it and let the two women in.

“Fletcher – I am so sorry to disturb you – I – we need your help,” Serena whispered. Fletcher’s eyes went to the bruise on her cheek and he grimaced: “He did that? My God – the bastard – I could…”

“I know. I need to find somewhere safe for Berenice to stay tonight. He – he was going to hurt her.”

Fletcher nodded: “Of course – she can stay here – my wife and the kids are asleep, and there’s not much room, but I’ll bring blankets for the settee. You’re staying too, of course.”

Serena shook her head: “I can’t – I have to go back. You take care of her – I’ll come back tomorrow and we can – make plans. Thank you for your help, Fletcher.”

She slipped out and Berenice let herself be guided to the settee.

“You’ve had a shock”, said Fletcher gently. “Oh – this is my wife Nathalie. Nathalie, this young lady is a – cousin – of Madame Campbell and she needs a place to stay tonight.”

The woman smiled and nodded: “Pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle.”

Fletcher brought out a glass and a dark-green bottle: “Here – drink this!”

Bernie swallowed the strong liquid and almost choked on its bitterness, but the alcohol brought her out of her sideration state. Fletcher and his wife went back to their room and left her to doze on the uncomfortable settee, but she only fell asleep in the early morning hours, in a fitful nightmare-filled slumber. She woke up suddenly as she felt a small hand on her back, and found herself staring at a tousled-hair little boy.

“I’m sorry, Mademoiselle. I told Michel not to wake you, but of course he didn’t listen! Michel, leave the demoiselle alone and go to school!”

Bernie smiled tiredly at Fletcher’s wife: “It’s quite all right, Madame – I’m the intruder – he has every right to want to know who’s sleeping in his home.”

“Even so! Would you like to come and have a bite to eat? I’ll show you the bathroom, too – it’s on the landing, I’m afraid.”

“Please, Madame Fletcher – don’t trouble yourself – I can’t thank you enough for taking me in like that. But I would like to use the facilities, thank you.”

The shared loo and bathroom were luckily free, and Bernie splashed some water on her face before joining the Fletchers in the kitchen. He wasn’t there, but a small girl grinned at her over the table. “This is Evelyne – our eldest. Come on, Evie, hurry up – you’re going to be late for school.” The child took a big bite of bread and jumped off her seat. Bernie shyly took her place and accepted a small piece of bread and marge, mindful of the fact that she was eating the Fletchers’ rations. She drank something of indefinite nature which was at least hot and then went back to sit in the main room, leaving Nathalie to carry on with the housework.

At eleven in the morning, there was still no news of Serena and Bernie was at her wits’ end. She hated to be helpless, but she knew going back to the house would only make things worse. She wished she was religious – at least she could pray for Serena. It was quite ironic, really – she was being persecuted for being Jewish, and yet her family had never been overly practicing. They went to the synagogue for the main festivals, but otherwise her mother didn’t even keep a strictly kosher kitchen.  And she had never found solace in prayer. She did send a quick word of appeal for Serena to the One above, but without much conviction. It may have worked, though, since less than an hour later Fletcher was back with Serena. Fletcher took Serena to his own bedroom and Bernie sat besides her on the edge of the bed and gently peeled off the other woman’s dark glasses, revealing a black eye. Then she took off Serena’s Chanel scarf and rolled up her unseasonal long sleeves, revealing purple finger marks on the pale skin. Bernie stifled a cry – she had seen bruised and battered bodies in medical school, but to see the weals on her lover was unbearable. Especially knowing she was part of the reason they had been incurred.

“My darling – what had he done to you?” she murmured. Somehow the pain in Serena’s eyes spoke of more than visible bruises. Serena stared vacantly for a few minutes before imprisoning Bernie’s hands in hers: “I’m all right, ma petite étoile – I’m all right.”

“Of course you’re not all right – what happened, Serena?”

Serena lowered her eyes and spoke in a small voice: “He – he did to me what he wanted to do to you. I tried to fight him off, but…” And then she began to sob uncontrollably in Bernie’s arms. The latter held the brunette tightly, overwhelmed by feelings of pity and guilt – if she had never met Serena – if she had never accepted her offer – this would not have happened.

After a few minutes, Serena swallowed back her tears and straightened up: “We cannot stay here, _ma petite étoile_. So here’s what we are going to do – for a few days, we are going to stay at a hotel. I – I need a little time to arrange things. And then, we’ll go away – together.”

“What about Eleanor, Serena?”

Serena gave Bernie a sad smile: “We can’t take her with us, and anyway – if I leave Edward, he will not let me have her. But I can’t leave her in Paris either. Edward has an aunt who leaves near Dreux. I sent her a telegram this morning, and Fletcher is going to take Eleanor and Marie-Claire to stay with her. At least they will have plenty of food there, and they will be safe. I don’t really think Edward would hurt her – he loves his daughter, but…”

“I understand.”

Serena made to get up and Bernie protested – the brunette looked exhausted – but to no avail. Serena wanted Fletcher to take them to the hotel before getting Eleanor to safety too. They said their goodbyes to Nathalie and left the small flat. At the hotel, they had to present their papers, and Serena spun a tale about her cousin visiting, her own home having sustained water damage and therefore having to put up in a hotel for a few days until the repairs were done. She assured the hotel receptionist that the only available room, with a double bed, would do perfectly well. And when they finally found themselves in the room and got rid of the nosy porter, they fell on that double bed and undressed each other with urgent gestures. Their hands explored each other’s skin and soon Bernie’s mouth replaced her hands, leaving a trail of kisses on Serena’s body, gently soothing with her lips each bruise and weal. Serena urged her along, bucking and shivering under the touch, but when Bernie reached her intimate parts she stifled a cry and Bernie immediately stopped her caresses and bit her lips worriedly.

“I’m sorry, ma petite étoile – it’s just – I can’t – not today.”

Bernie admonished herself internally – how stupid of her not to have thought of that herself. A vision of Edward’s large member invaded her brain and she shuddered.

They remained in bed for the rest of the afternoon, content just to remain entwined and comfort each other. Then, as the sun started to set, Serena stirred: “We have to go to the club, _ma petite étoile._ ”

Bernie stared at her uncomprehendingly, but Serena got up.

“We have to – I need to see someone.”

Since Fletcher had taken the car to Dreux, they took a cab. Serena was wearing her dark glasses and she had put on a long-sleeved dress again, with a high neck that hid most of the bruises. They did not dance much that night, and for a while they just remained sitting, listening to the music. Then Serena stood up and went to talk to Madame Fleur. Bernie couldn’t hear their conversation, but Serena came back to her and asked if she would be all right by herself for a little while. Although Bernie didn’t want to be left alone, she nodded and Serena disappeared in another room. When she reappeared almost an hour later – an hour which had seemed like eternity to Bernie – she was accompanied by a blonde with short hair, wearing a smart black three-pieces suites. They separated before Serena headed back to the table.

“Who was that?”

“Just someone I needed to see, ma petite étoile.”

Bernie wanted to continue with the questioning, but something in Serena’s behaviour told her not to.  They went back to the hotel soon afterwards, and Serena went directly to the bathroom. Bernie heard the water running and when Serena came back into the room, she was wearing pyjamas and she went straight under the covers. When Bernie joined her, the brunette remained stiff in her embrace.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, Serena told her she had to go on with her usual routine for a few days until she could arrange their departure. She dressed carefully, applied as much make-up as she could to cover the bruises on her face and told Bernie she would be back around teatime. Bernie pouted a little but as she still felt guilty for the recent events, she didn’t dare protest too much. After an hour alone in the hotel room, deciding she couldn’t stand it anymore, she headed towards the café. Raf was at the bar eating something that could have been anything from boiled swedes to tripe. She grimaced and went to sit in her usual dark corner where he joined her. She knew she must look a mess – in the mirror that morning, her eyes were bloodshot and dark shadows hung under them. She didn’t know whether she wanted Raf to ask questions, but he was too discerning not too. So she threw caution to the wind and told him. Everything. It may not have been wise, but she needed someone to confide in, and she trusted him not to judge her. He didn’t make any comment, but she saw his fists clench as she told him about Edward’s behaviour. She refused his offer of help and assured him Serena was taking care of everything. When they parted, Bernie knew she would never see him again – she couldn’t have explained why.

For two days, Serena remained moody and almost unapproachable. Bernie put it down to Edward’s assault and tried to be as understanding and gentle as possible, even though uncertainty was getting to her. Serena still hadn’t told her what her plan was, and she felt restless and unsettled. She replayed in her mind the events of the previous days and couldn’t help thinking she was missing something. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore and was ready to confront Serena with her anxieties about their future when Serena spoke out first.

“ _Ma petite étoile_ – I found us a way out – a way to leave. But …it’s dangerous, and – I hate to put you in at risk, but I can’t see any other way. Do you trust me?”

“Always, darling.”

Serena swallowed hard and went on: “I – I haven’t told you everything. I couldn’t – but now… Anyway – I’m a member of Alliance – the resistance network. Not a very important member, but I’ve been helping around – with fake papers, and messages and – finances. The network is in contact with the British Intelligence Services, and with Special Operations Executives agents here in France. One of them – I can’t tell you her name, but – I helped her, and she owes me a favour. She can get us on a plane to England the day after tomorrow. Then – I’ve got friends in London, and we can make a life there. We can help our country too…What do you say?”

Bernie had been listening wide-eyed, and suddenly the pieces of the puzzles fell together. She would have followed Serena to the end of the earth, but there was one thing she needed to know. It wouldn’t make any difference, but she had to ask.

“Serena – that last night at the club – the blonde – was it her?”

Serena nodded silently.

“Did you – did you sleep with her then?”

Serena lowered her eyes and nodded again. Bernie whimpered and tears came into her eyes. Serena reached out to her but Bernie shied away: “No – no, not right now – I can’t.”

“I had to, _ma petite étoile_ – it was the best way to convince her to help us. What happened with Leah – it has nothing to do with us. I love you – only you.”

Serena extended her arms again but still Bernie refused the embrace: “You say you love me, but you sleep with another woman.” Then, suddenly remembering something, she said falteringly: “That first night you took me to the club – you were with her too. You left me alone. You – I was there, and you went with her.”

“I’m sorry – I didn’t do it to hurt you. That first night – I was a fool. She wanted to, and – I thought you weren’t interested. I was afraid. I’m so, so sorry, Bernie. Please forgive me.”

Bernie’s eyes brimmed with tears and she gulped. Finally, she accepted the outstretched arms and buried her head in Serena’s shoulder. “I – I need time, Serena. You betrayed me. I wish – I wish you had told me. If I hadn’t guessed – you would never have said anything, would you?”

Serena held her tighter but didn’t reply. No, she wouldn’t have. She had never intended causing her beloved any pain, and yet – she yielded to temptation. Now she was afraid – what if Bernie refused to come with her? She couldn’t leave without her, and if she stayed, Edward would find her, and she couldn’t do back to him. She couldn’t divorce him – he would fight it and take away Eleanor. Bernie disengaged herself from Serena’s arms and went to stand by the window, looking away. She didn’t have any more to say – she felt numb – frozen in pain. She thought she would be sick. She wanted to go out – to walk the pain away - but it was already past curfew and even though part of her wanted to be caught, because that would hurt Serena, show the older woman she hadn’t been able to protect her after all, another part, another voice in her head screamed that she was too young to die. Instead, still without a word, she wrapped herself in the bedspread and settled for the night on the large armchair, letting a miserable Serena have the bed.

All night Bernie fought with herself, torn between her head and her heart. Her head told her that Serena would never change – that once a player, always a player. Her heart wanted to believe love would conquer all. And when the sun rose behind the Paris roofs, her heart won – she would follow Serena to England.


	12. Epilogue

**  Paris, September 1945  **

The two women strolled in the bombed-out streets, taking in their surroundings with dismay. A year and a half after their departure for England, it was the first time they were back in the French capital, with no intention of remaining there more than necessary. A few hours before, Serena had been reunited with her precious daughter, who had grown several inches and thanks to having been in the country, did not sport the pinched, hungry look of many Parisian children. The faithful Marie-Claire was still with her and had agreed to go back to London with them.

Neither of them would ever forget the night of their escape. They hadn’t known until the very last moment whether the plane would be able to land. Fletcher had brought them and Leah to a small village in the darkest depths of Normandy. The drive had been mostly silent – although Bernie had politely shaken her rival’s hand, she could not possibly have talked with her. Serena, stuck between the two of them, had never felt more uncomfortable in her life. Finally, the clouds had lifted and Leah had installed three small lights in a pre-arranged pattern on the ground. Only when the Lysander had flown off had Bernie realised the magnitude of what she was doing and she had tried to forget that they might well be shot to the ground before they even reached the coast of England. The small aircraft, stripped of all equipment to allow room for the passengers and manned only by a single pilot, could also become their tomb. She and Serena had clung to each other for warm and comfort, and it was entwinned in each other’s arms that they had landed in an airfield in the British Midlands, with only a small suitcase each to their names.

That night, in the hotel room the SOE had arranged for them, they had made love with all their might and all their hopes. They would have ripped each other’s clothes off if material wasn’t so precious in those days. Instead, Serena had undress Bernie reverently, making her body ache with arousal as each undone button was accompanied with a kiss. Not letting go further than the shirt, Bernie had begun the same process, feeling Serena’s heart beat a tattoo under her fingers. They had fallen naked onto the bed and as Serena had parted her legs, she had moaned in an agony of feelings – they had rocked in concert and as they had merged into a total connection, her body had ignited with desire and unknown urges.

Only a fortnight after their flight, the Allies had landed in Normandy. They had found a small flat in London, and thanks to Serena’s Resistance actions , they had been recruited by the Intelligence Services. Bernie was glad to be earning a little money, although Serena had enough for the both of them – one of the last things she had done before leaving her home had been to visit Edward’s safe to get cash and gold. She had brought enough to the marriage not to feel guilty about taking back what was rightly hers. The upheaval had been greater for her than for Bernie – Serena had never lived without domestic staff, and just boiling an egg or making toast had not come easily to her, but she had learnt. Then had come May 1945, and the Liberation. And a few weeks afterwards, a letter from Fletcher – Edward and his then-mistress had been found shot in his bed, executed by the Resistance for collaborating with the Nazis. Bernie had suspected Raf and Ric, but she would never have any proof. It did not matter – Serena was free.

They stayed in Paris just long enough to see the Fletchers and to arrange for the sale of Serena’s house – its contents had been looted, but the empty shell remained. They had no more ties to France – once back in London, Serena would open her general practice in family medicine, and Bernie would finish her studies and join her. They would never forget the past, but they had a future. Together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a musical accompaniment : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlwepSD4TzE&list=PLpwUqL0q8iXUfa-_NcH0vWciORZKAvPmZ&index=17
> 
> particularly Le Chant des partisans. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the trip to wartime Paris!


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